Darkness Setting In
by Jules3
Summary: Monica's world seems to be falling apart... will anyone be able to save her from herself? (C&M.. kind of)


Okay... this is another dramatic fic. I am not, by nature, what you would call a comic genius, so I figure I won't humiliate myself by trying to rival the wit of such writers as those on the "Friends" payroll. Instead, for the moment at least, I'll stick to drama.  
  
Disclaimer: They're not mine. Sob. I'm coming to terms with it, slowly but surely. Whilst I deal with my angst, please don't sue me. Thanks. I appreciate it.  
  
Note: Takes place around mid-season three...ish.  
  
Darkness Setting In  
  
As Monica sat in her apartment in the dark, she tried to piece together what was going on in her life, but to no avail. "How did I let it get to this point? There had been a time when I had been so happy... so sure of everything. Perhaps that was the invincible frame of mind that so often accompanies the naivety of youth. Perhaps to believe it was just foolish." She tried to think back to where it was that things went so wrong. "I met Richard, and things had seemed so perfect. I thought I was in love, I thought he was the one. It was, of course, my own fault for getting into a relationship that was so absurd to begin with. What was I thinking? He's my father's age. MY FATHER'S AGE." She shook her head, feeling ridiculous and pitiful at the same time. "Now I'm the pathetic one again," she thought sadly. "Ross and Rachel have each other. Phoebe and Joey are, as usual, lost in their own little 'Joey-and-Phoebe worlds.' Chandler has Janice." She momentarily shuddered at the thought of Janice, wondering how Chandler, or anyone for that matter, could put up with the woman. She sighed again as she felt the tears spill over and roll down her cheeks. Not having the energy to brush them away, she sniffed piteously. "Even JANICE has someone," she thought bitterly. "Just goes to show... there really IS something wrong with me." She shivered and pulled the blanket tighter around her. She hated that she couldn't snap out of this seemingly permanent state of misery. It had been almost a month, and instead of getting better, things had just gotten worse. She'd thought, at first, that it was her breakup with Richard that had upset her, but now she knew that it was something else, something bigger. The problem was, she just didn't know WHAT. She absently dragged her sleeve across her eyes in a half-hearted attempt to dry her tears, stood up slowly, and walked into her room.  
  
"Hello, children," Chandler greeted the gang cheerfully as he entered the apartment the next day. Everyone nodded their various hellos with the exception of Monica, who had yet to emerge from her bedroom. Walking over to the counter to pour himself a cup of coffee, Chandler noticed that a sixth of their group was missing. "Mon still asleep?" he asked, surprised. Usually she was like the mother hen, bustling around and getting things together. Lately, however, she seemed to have lost interest in taking care of the group, and sometimes even taking care of herself.   
"Yeah," Rach answered. "Haven't seen her yet."  
"How's she doing?" Chandler asked, feeling slightly guilty that he hadn't been around much since his relationship with Janice took off.  
"Not good," Ross replied after a moment. "She's... well, she's just not herself." He quieted as he heard Monica's bedroom door open and she emerged, looking as though she hadn't slept a wink.   
"Morning, Mon," they greeted her as she tottered to the bathroom to take a shower. She simply nodded dully and went into the bathroom, closing the door.  
"Wow," Chandler said after a moment. "That bad, huh?" The group simply nodded, lost in their own thoughts and wondering what they could do to get their friend back to normal. They had become increasingly worried about her, and were certain that such a level of depression wasn't a normal reaction to a simple breakup. "Why don't we do something tonight... just the six of us?" Chandler suggested. "Maybe that will cheer her up... it can be like old times. We can... I don't know, go to dinner or a movie or something?"   
"Dinner sounds good," Ross answered. "That way we can talk and stuff... in a movie we wouldn't be able to." Rachel, Phoebe, and Joey nodded their agreement, and Chandler smiled optimistically. "Hopefully," he thought, "this will get Monica back to her old self." At that moment, the bathroom door opened and Monica emerged in a towel.   
"Hey, Mon," Phoebe beckoned. "Tonight we're all going to go out to dinner, okay? Just the six of us," she added with a smile. Monica shrugged nonchalantly.   
"I don't really feel like it," she answered in the same monotone voice that she had come to use in response to anything and everything. "You guys go," she added, not wanting to spoil everyone else's fun. "I think I'm just going to catch up on some sleep."  
"Aw, come on, Mon," Rachel pleaded. "It'll be fun... please? It wouldn't be the same without you." Monica resisted the temptation to make a bitter comment about Rachel's preoccupation with Ross and the fact that she probably wouldn't notice whether Mon was there or not. "It's not HER fault I'm so messed up," she scolded herself. She forced a smile when she saw the five expectant faces awaiting her answer.   
"Okay," she agreed, trying to make it sound like she was looking forward to it. "What time?"  
"Seven," Chandler answered, after a quick glance at the rest of the group. "At the Rainbow Room, okay?" Monica nodded and turned to head into her room. She sighed to herself as she closed the door behind her. She knew that they were just trying to help, but she couldn't help getting agitated with them. Couldn't they see that she just wanted to be left alone? She didn't want to have to pretend like she was having fun or that everything was okay. Everything wasn't okay. She knew that. But she also knew that, even given the chance, she wouldn't be able to explain it to them. After all, how could she explain something she didn't understand herself?  
  
As Mon put on her second earring, she looked at herself in the mirror indifferently. She looked different somehow, and yet she couldn't figure out why. "Psychological appearance," she guessed to herself. Nothing was different with the reflection... there was just a difference in the eyes through which the image was being observed. She hastily put on a little concealer to hide the slight puffiness and the circles under her eyes. "I've got to sleep," she said to herself. "I'm starting to look like a psychopath." She took one last look in the mirror, half-heartedly reaching up to tuck a wisp of hair behind her ear, and sighed. She knew that she was in for a long night.  
  
"Chandler Bing... we have a reservation for six," Chandler informed the host.   
"Ah, yes, Mr. Bing," the man replied after scanning his list quickly. "Your table is ready." He snapped his fingers in the direction of a bow-tied waiter, who approached briskly. "James will show you to your table, sir."  
"Thank you," Chandler replied, placing his hand gently on the small of Monica's back and steering her toward the table as the other four followed behind. He was determined to make sure she was having a good time over the course of the evening. She was his best friend, and he hated seeing her so despondent. "You look beautiful tonight, Mon," he whispered with a friendly smile. She smiled back reluctantly.  
"You look great, too," she replied, knowing that he was trying to be a good friend. She tried to ignore the cloud that had dominated her moods and her life for the past weeks as she followed the waiter.   
  
As she ate her dinner quietly, Monica could feel the gloominess set over her once again. She felt the anger that had become so familiar churning inside of her. As she allowed her thoughts to flow freely, she pondered for the millionth time what was going on with her. One of the worst things, she decided, was having such an undeniable presence of irritation, and yet not having the energy to express it. That was one of the things that annoyed her the most: her lack of energy. She was so used to being lively and active, and although she hated her new lethargic state, it was as if she was powerless to do anything about it. She had a constant headache and a frequent irritability, and yet she didn't have the energy to try to change them. Even her friends, who she knew were only trying to help, got on her nerves for things that she knew shouldn't annoy her. Little things that she would have laughed off before or perhaps not even have noticed suddenly bothered her. She was also painfully aware of the fact that she was becoming a recluse. She simply no longer had any interest in being around other people. It was almost as if dealing with other individuals, regardless of how much she cared about them or how significant a part of her life they were, was just too much work. Being sociable was yet another task for which she simply didn't have the energy.  
"Mon?" Chandler's concerned voice interrupted her thoughts and she turned to face him, almost confused at suddenly being jerked to reality. He looked at her, momentarily perplexed, and gently spoke again. "You want coffee?" She looked blankly up at the waiter towering above her and nodded passively. She then lowered her head and stared once again at the table in front of her, noticed that her plate was gone, and wondered how long she had been lost in her own labyrinth of a mind. Chandler gazed at her sadly, realizing that despite their intentions to bring Monica out of her shell, she'd simply brought it along with her.  
"So, uh, Mon," Joey began, becoming aware of what Chandler was thinking. "How 'bout them Knicks?" he stammered after a frantic moment of racking his brain. She stared at him blankly for a moment, and felt guilty yet again as she realized that she was putting a damper on everyone else's evening as well. She forced a smile in his direction and sat up a little straighter.   
"You guys going to a game soon?" she asked, trying to sound interested. Joey and Chandler smiled warmly at that, relieved that she had finally opened up, even if only slightly.  
"Yup," Joey replied, pleased. "Two weeks... Madison Square Gardens, baby... against the Jazz. We're gonna win!" Monica laughed as he rubbed his hands together eagerly. Sometimes he seemed like such a kid. The others traded smiles and hopeful looks upon hearing her laugh. Perhaps they could fix what was wrong after all.  
  
A little while later, as they were relaxing and drinking their coffees, Monica quietly excused herself to go to the restroom. Once she was out of earshot, the five remaining friends shared questioning glances. "How do you think it's going?" Rachel asked after a moment.   
Ross cleared his throat. "I think it's going well," he answered optimistically. "At least she's talking." They were silent again as they reflected on that.  
"Jesus... you know you've got a problem when you're triumphant at getting her to have a discussion," Chandler said dejectedly.   
"Why don't we dance?" Phoebe suggested after a moment. "I mean, there are some people dancing," she added, indicating toward the dance floor. "Maybe it'll be good... that way she won't just be sitting anymore."   
"Good idea, Pheebs," Joey agreed warmly after a moment. As they caught sight of Monica approaching the table, Joey stood up, extending his hand toward Phoebe. "Would you like to dance?" he said pointedly. She placed her napkin on the table and accepted his outstretched hand.   
"I would be honored," she declared dramatically, and followed him toward the floor. Monica watched them go uneasily as she sat down.  
"Rach?" Ross offered after a moment. She nodded enthusiastically and they, too, disappeared from the table. Chandler turned toward Monica with a smile.   
"I guess that just leaves us," he hinted.  
"Yeah, I guess it does," she agreed apprehensively. He stood up and offered her his hand.   
"Would you do me the honor?" he asked with a grin. She took a deep breath and rose from the table, taking his hand.  
"Of course," she said with a forced smile, wishing that they had just left after coffee. It was so much easier to make simple conversation with a group. One-on-one, it was a considerably more difficult task. Especially when the "other" one was her best friend. She knew that Chandler knew her better than the others, and she was terrified that he was going to bombard her with questions to which she had no answers. She followed him to the floor, fidgeting and gripping onto his hand tightly, wishing that suddenly the power would go out so that they could just go home and she could change into her sweats and vegetate on the couch. But the power didn't go out, and she found herself facing him on the dance floor. She nervously placed her left hand on his shoulder as he put his right on her hip. He held her right hand with his left and smiled reassuringly down at her.  
"I'm not going to bite you," he said in a soft voice, trying to make her less nervous. He didn't understand why, suddenly, she seemed terrified. They had danced numerous times in the past, and he wondered what was going on with her. He seemed to sense, however, that asking her would neither produce answers nor ease her anxiety, so he simply held her close to him and let the music be their language. The band was playing an old song, one that Chandler loved, and he smiled at the irony of how well the lyrics seemed to fit.  
  
When you're down and troubled and you need a helping hand,  
And nothing, oh nothings going right.  
Close your eyes and think of me and soon I will be there  
To brighten up even your darkest night.  
  
You just call out my name and you know wherever I am,   
I'll come running to see you again,  
Winter, spring, summer, or fall,   
All you got to do is call,  
And I'll be there, you've got a friend.  
  
If the sky above you should turn dark and full of clouds  
And that old north wind should begin to blow,  
Keep your head together and call my name out loud,  
Soon I'll be knocking upon your door.  
  
You just call out my name, and you know wherever I am,   
I'll come running to see you again,  
Winter, spring, summer, or fall,   
All you got to do is call,  
And I'll be there.  
  
Ain't it good to know that you've got a friend?  
People can be so cold,   
They'll hurt you and desert you,   
Well they'll take your soul if you let them,   
But don't you let them.  
  
You just call out my name and you know wherever I am,   
I'll come running to see you again.   
Don't you know,  
Winter, spring, summer, or fall,  
Hey, now, all you got to do is call,  
And I'll be there, yes I will.   
You've got a friend. Ain't it good to know you've got a friend?  
  
As the song drew to a close, Chandler whispered gently to Monica, who had rested her head upon his shoulder after the first stanza. "I know you don't want to talk about it, Mon," he murmured, not wanting to push her further away from him. "But if you ever do, you can talk to me. I'm here. I won't push you... anything you want to talk about, and anything you don't... it's fine. Just... whatever you need. I'm here." He hoped that she wouldn't withdraw from him again, being that she'd at least opened up enough to show a part of the old, affectionate Monica. As she heard his sincere words, Monica felt her eyes sting, a sure sign that the tears weren't far. She wanted so badly to be able to talk to him. She'd always told Chandler everything, from the underwear on the terrace to her ache at being the family disappointment, and she wished that she could do the same now, but at the same time, she didn't know what to tell him. She knew that something was wrong, but it was just so complicated that she didn't know where to begin. She nodded against his shoulder and wished for the thousandth time that she wasn't such a mess.  
  
A week later, as she sat in her apartment looking out the window, she let the tears fall freely down her face. No matter what she did, things were just getting worse. She felt like she didn't even fit in her own life anymore. She watched through her tears as the rain hammered down on the window and thought, as she had quite frequently as of late, how much better things would be if she didn't have to fight anymore. She sniffled as she slowly drew a circle in the fog on the window with her finger. "A whole," Monica muttered as her tears slowed. "Normal." Next to it, she drew a circle with a smaller circle in the middle. "A donut," she whispered sadly. "Normality with a core chunk missing." She stared at it. "Me," she added after a moment. And, as she stared at her doodle, she realized how much she was like that donut shape. She looked like a whole person. But in the center, in the core, where it mattered, she was empty. She felt her eyes mist again as she dejectedly wiped the images away and stared out at the rain. As she sat there in the solitude to which she had become eerily accustomed, her mind returned to the thoughts that had initially scared her, but now almost offered consolation. She leaned her head against the cold glass and closed her eyes, wondering what it would be like not to have to fight anymore. She sighed, knowing how ridiculous it sounded. She knew that it would be the easy way out, and that it would be cowardly, but at the same time, the realization that the pain would be over was all too tempting. Sometimes such notions made her feel guilty and selfish. After all, there were millions of people in the world who were far worse off than she and had problems that made hers seem trivial, and yet they fought through their troubles and never gave up. And here she was, moping around in a place where she had a roof over her head, good foot to eat, clothes on her back, and friends that cared about her, and yet she was still considering a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Realizing that made her feel even worse, and her emotions turned from silent tears into body-shaking sobs. "I can't live like this anymore," she thought desperately as she got up from the window-seat. Looking around at her apartment, she momentarily let herself remember happier times. The night Chandler had come over just after Phoebe moved out and consoled her when she thought she was hopeless. The time that Joey had stripped off all his clothes after misinterpreting her offer of lemonade as an invitation for sex. The evening the girls had spent burning bad-boyfriend memorabilia and eventually ending up dealing with the New York City Fire Department. She sighed. She knew she would miss them all, but she hoped that somehow they would understand. She was glad that they were all getting on in their lives... Rachel and Ross had finally gotten together. Chandler, despite WHO the object of his affections was, had finally made a commitment. Joey had moved on from his VD poster and was actually getting good acting gigs. And Phoebe was still her same wonderfully quirky Phoebe self. Monica absently folded up the blanket that she'd had wrapped around her and placed it on the back of the sofa. Surprisingly, she wasn't crying anymore. For the first time in what seemed like ages, she was actually looking forward to something. Regardless of the severity of her decision, she wasn't going to have to fight anymore. She wasn't going to have to put up a front to make other people feel better, and she wasn't going to have to live with the knowledge that her life was never going to get any better. That was all going to end. She was moving on to something better. Serenity and peace.  
  
She gazed at her tear-streaked face and puffy eyes in the bathroom mirror and took a deep breath. This was it. No more struggling. She looked down at the bottle of pills in her hand and sighed. Such little, insignificant capsules. Little did they know their magnitude. They were the vehicles that would take her to calmer waters. She squinted and read the label on the bottle of barbiturates in her hand, then looked up at her reflection again as she turned the bottle around in her hand. She took another deep breath and popped the cap, pouring the pills into her free hand. She gazed at them absently for a moment and reached for the glass of water that she had balanced on the edge of the sink next to a picture of the gang. She half-smiled as she gently ran a finger over the picture and then picked up the glass. After one last glance in the mirror, she placed one of the pills on her tongue, took a sip of the water, and swallowed. "So long, heartache," she thought. She then took another. "So long, irritation." And another. "Frustration. Depression. Loneliness. Lethargy. Anger. Guilt. Indifference. Pain. Apathy." One more. "So long, life," she managed before she fell to the floor, lost in a new type of darkness.  
  
Noticing that the lights were out in the apartment, Rachel closed the door quietly after kissing Ross goodnight. Figuring Monica was probably already asleep, she tiptoed to her room and closed the door silently. Dumping her purse on the bed, she turned to look in her mirror, still thinking about Ross. She was so unbelievably happy that things were finally going right. She had a boyfriend she was crazy about, she had a job she was doing well in, she had great friends, and all of it she had accomplished by herself. She smiled at her reflection and turned away from it. Slipping out of her dress, she pulled an old t-shirt of Ross's over her head and put on a pair of flannel pajama pants. Releasing her hair from its clip, she opened her door quietly and headed toward the bathroom to wash her face. She glanced sadly toward Monica's door as she realized that she hadn't seen much of her friend that day. Sighing, she resolved that tomorrow she would drag Mon out to go shopping, whether she liked it or not. Feeling slightly less guilty, she crept the rest of the way toward the bathroom and turned the handle. She tried to push inside, but there was something blocking the door. Surprised, she pushed a little bit harder and was even more confused when the door gave way only slightly. She shoved a third time, and gasped when she saw what appeared to be a hand on the floor. Terrified of what was lying on the other side, she paused momentarily. With a final deep breath, she leaned her weight on the door and peered petrified around it. The sight that met her eyes sent a wave of terror throughout her body that she knew she would never forget. There, lying on the cold tile floor, was Monica. Her skin had almost a bluish tint to it, and she didn't appear to be breathing. Rachel's momentary shock gave way to hysteria as she knelt down beside her friend.  
"Monica?" she shrieked, shaking her friend. She slapped her across the face, sobbing. "Monica! Wake up! Mon, open your eyes! Oh, God, Mon... please..." She looked frantically around the room and noticed a bottle of pills lying on the floor beside the toilet. "Oh, God," she repeated. She quickly grabbed Monica's wrist and tried to feel for a pulse, but there didn't appear to be one. Not knowing what to do, Rachel looked at her friend, powerless, and jumped up. She dashed out the door and flew into Joey and Chandler's apartment, thankful that they never thought to lock their door. She made a beeline for Chandler's bedroom, knowing even in her frantic state that he would be far better in an emergency than Joey. She burst into the room and grabbed the sleeping Chandler. "Chandler! Wake up! Chandler!" she begged, sobbing uncontrollably and shaking him. He woke instantly, wondering why on earth it felt as though he was being shaken like a snow-globe. He saw Rachel's twisted face above him, and immediately panicked.   
"Rach? What, what's wrong?"   
"Monica... pills... not breathing... I-... no pulse... floor... bathroom..." Unable to formulate a complete sentence, she looked at him desperately. Reading her frantic expression and putting it together with the words she had managed, Chandler jumped up and dashed toward the girls' apartment, ignoring the fact that he was in only boxers. He ran through the already open door and sprinted to the bathroom. The sight of Monica on the floor robbed him of all his breath, as though he had been punched in the stomach. He dropped to his knees and began desperately to call her name and shake her, slapping her cheek lightly. He turned to Rachel, who was standing helplessly behind him, a look of terror and disbelief on her face.   
"Phone," he demanded. "Call 9-1-1." She didn't move. "Rachel, NOW!" She snapped back to reality, and ran to the couch, where she snatched the phone from its cradle. As Chandler began CPR, she dialed.   
"9-1-1," she shrieked into the phone. "Emergency! Help! My... my friend... my best friend... she... she overdosed on pills... please... she's not breathing..." She paused as the emergency operator interrupted her. As she gave the address, she watched as Chandler desperately gave Monica mouth-to-mouth, and she felt her eyes burn with tears. She hung up and went over to stand beside him. "Monica," she mumbled as she knelt down. "Oh, Mon..." she began to rock back and forth as she took hold of Monica's hand. She watched as Chandler tried desperately to get her to breathe again, not fully registering what he was doing, but glad that he was at least doing something.   
"Come on, Mon," she heard him demand. "I know what a fighter you are. Don't you dare give up on me now." He leaned in to continue the rescue breathing as Rachel continued to rock back and forth. She looked up a few moments later as she saw a team of paramedics walk through the door that they had left open.   
"We're answering a 9-1-1 call," one of them announced as he dragged a gurney behind him. The team of three immediately surrounded Monica. "What did she take?" they asked, turning to Chandler, having assumed, since he was in his underwear, that he lived in the apartment as well. He shrugged helplessly. Rachel jumped up and ran into the bathroom, emerging instantly with the bottle that she had seen on the floor.   
"I think these," she answered, handing the container to the nearest paramedic. Glancing at the bottle as the other two strapped Monica onto the gurney, he turned to Rachel.   
"You know how many?" he asked as they wheeled Monica toward the door. She shrugged, baffled.   
"I don't know... I don't even know what they are, I've never seen them before." He nodded as they exited the apartment. Rachel and Chandler followed close behind as one of the paramedics placed an oxygen mask over her face. As they exited the apartment building with Rachel and Chandler still on their heels, the medics lifted the gurney into the back of the ambulance. "Can we come?" Rachel asked desperately.   
"Only got room for one in the rig," the driver answered. Chandler turned to face Rachel.   
"Rach, let me go. You go call Ross, you can keep him calm, and get Joey and Pheebs and meet us at the hospital, okay?" She nodded, dazed, and watched as he climbed into the back of the ambulance. After it had driven away in a whirlwind of flashing lights and sirens, she turned and sprinted back into the building.  
  
"Does she have any allergies?" asked the paramedic who was taking her blood pressure.   
"I- I don't think so," Chandler stammered.   
"90/70," the guy declared once he'd read the pressure.  
"Here you go, sir," said another, handing Chandler an extra paramedic jacket.  
"Oh... thanks," he said, bewildered and slightly embarrassed when he realized he was still in nothing more than his underwear. He gazed at Monica, who in all reality looked nothing like Monica, and prayed that she would be okay. He knew that he'd never in a million years forgive himself if she wasn't.  
  
"Where is she?" Ross demanded when he arrived at the Beth Israel Emergency Room. He had a tight grip on Rachel's hand and Phoebe and Joey were close behind him as he approached the anxious Chandler, who was wearing a set of scrubs that he'd managed to get from one of the doctors.  
"She's in one of the trauma rooms," Chandler replied quietly. "They pumped her stomach, now they're trying to bring her around." Ross sank into one of the plastic waiting room chairs as Rachel did the same.  
"I can't believe this," he muttered, his head resting in his hands. "How could this have happened? I'm her brother, I should have seen that something was wrong." Rachel, who hadn't said a word since she'd told Ross, Phoebe, and Joey what had happened, remained silent as the tears trickled down her face. "Have the doctors said anything to you yet?" he asked Chandler hopefully.  
"No," he replied, shaking his head. "Nothing yet."  
Ross sighed and leaned back in the chair, allowing Rachel to bury her face in his neck as he stroked her hair soothingly. Joey guided Phoebe to another pair of chairs and sat next to her with an arm protectively around her shoulders. Chandler continued to pace, shivering as the air conditioning gradually froze him through the paper-thin ER scrubs.  
  
"Mr. Bing?" Chandler's head snapped up as a doctor approached him an hour later.   
"Yes?" he answered anxiously, wishing that he weren't the only one there. Ross and Rachel had gone to the cafeteria to get coffee along with Phoebe and Joey.  
"Hi, I'm Dr. Bennet," he said. "I was the resident who worked on your..." he paused. "Ms. Geller." Chandler nodded, awaiting what he feared was bad news. "Well," the doctor continued, getting to the point. "We pumped Ms. Geller's stomach and ran some blood gases. When she was brought in, her pupils were midrange and sluggish. We managed to get her breathing again, and we're monitoring her carefully, but she hasn't shown any reaction to outside stimuli as of yet." Chandler stared at him blankly.  
"Okay, so what does that mean?" he asked nervously.  
"Well, sir, she's in what is essentially a 'light' coma. Dialysis was somewhat effective, and we have every reason to believe that she will regain consciousness relatively soon." At the word "coma," Chandler's breath caught and he felt his heart skip a beat.  
"Can I see her?" he asked after a moment. The doctor nodded and indicated for him to follow.  
Entering the ICU, Chandler tensed as he approached Monica's bed. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up as he looked at her. She was on a respirator and her skin was pale, even more so than normal, and she looked nothing like the Monica he knew. As the efficient frame of mind that had given him the ability to maintain his cool evaporated, he finally felt the shock, sadness, and desperation of the situation, and he gently placed his hand over hers and let the tears flow.  
  
A week later, Monica was still on the respirator and little had changed regarding her condition. The group of five was devastated at the situation, and each had assumed a different way of coping. Rachel, regardless of how much she loved Monica, couldn't handle being at the hospital. The fact that she had been the one to find her and the shock at doing so had left some deep scars, ones that would take awhile to heal, and the rest accepted that and tried to be there for her. Ross visited Monica every day, albeit shortly, being that he was Rachel's newfound pillar of support. He tried to spend every minute with her when he wasn't working or at the hospital, and he knew that she needed him. Phoebe and Joey had more or less turned to each other for support and were dealing with it as well as could be expected, but they both felt somewhat removed from the whole thing, as if their pain wasn't as intense as that of the other three. Chandler, on the other hand, had taken it upon himself to spend every available minute at the hospital, determined to be there when Monica woke up so that she would see a friendly face. He almost felt somewhat accountable that Monica had done such a drastic thing, and he wondered what he could have done to help her. He realized that even though he'd told her during their dance that he'd be there, he had failed miserably.  
  
"A woman was arrested yesterday for breeding snakes in the basement of her house," Chandler read from the newspaper. "All was going well until they escaped the minimum-security cellar and flooded into the street, causing somewhat of a mass panic among neighbors." He looked up from the paper and toward Monica. "She sounds like a real genius, huh?" He looked back down and turned the page, looking for something more interesting, eventually dropping it and picking up a trashy tabloid magazine. "Okay, and now for today's bogus news story: Woman Gives Birth to Two-Headed Elvis Presley Look-Alike." He paused. "Well, what does the OTHER head look like?" he wondered. Looking up at Monica's ashen face, he sighed and folded the rag, placing it on the floor next to his chair. "C'mon, gorgeous, aren't you sick of being cooped up in this place? Open those eyes so that we can go and do something new and unusual like... uh... drinking coffee in Central Perk. Now THERE'S something we don't do every day." He sighed again and took hold of her hand. "Come on, Monica. Please. I can't take this much longer." He looked at his watch. "Oh, crap," he muttered, as he realized that he was an hour late for his lunch date with Janice. He'd done the same thing two days earlier, and she'd gotten really pissed off. He left the room and headed for the payphone a few doors down, which had been used more than his own phone in the past week. "Janice?" he said into the mouthpiece when he heard her unmistakable voice pick up on the other end. "Hey... it's me. Look, I'm sorry--" He was cut off by a high-pitched yelling coming from the earpiece.  
"Don't even tell me you're canceling on me AGAIN, Chandler Bing!" she demanded.  
"Look, hon, I'm sorry. It's just..."  
"Chandler, I know you're worried about your friend, but I have needs too!"  
"I know, I just... Monica needs me more right now," he said apologetically.  
"Look, I realize that Chandler, but I'm getting kind of tired of this. It's one thing to worry about your friend, but it's quite another to take on the role of a grieving widower."  
"Janice--"  
"I'm sorry, Bing-A-Ling, but I can't do this anymore. I am a woman, and I have needs, and one of those needs is a man who will ATTEND to them. So, sweetheart, I'm sorry to have to do this, but I'm afraid you have to make a decision here." Chandler was momentarily silent, confused.  
"Are you actually asking me to choose between you and Monica?" he asked in disbelief after a moment.  
"I guess so," she replied.  
"Janice, Monica is my best friend... she NEEDS me, and I'm not going to abandon her now. It's pretty obvious that she already thought I had, otherwise she wouldn't have done this. I'm sorry that I haven't been around much..."  
"Look, Chandler, I've always known you and Monica had a thing for each other--"  
"What?!"  
"And this has pretty much made your priorities obvious."   
He paused for a moment. "Then I'm sorry," he answered simply.  
"Me too," she said. "Goodbye, Chandler Bing."  
"Goodbye Janice," he said, hanging up the phone. He stood and stared at the receiver for a moment, not entirely sure as to what had just happened. He was fairly certain that he'd broken up with Janice (again), even though he had thought only a week earlier that he was in love with her. Now, strangely enough, he didn't even feel upset. He shook his head as he turned to go back to Monica's bedside. "It'll probably sink in soon enough," he told himself. "Once the world stops spinning."  
  
He woke with a start, unsure of where he was or why there was a sharp pain shooting up his back. He groaned and rolled his neck in a clockwise motion, trying to stretch out the cramped muscles. "That will teach me to sleep sitting up," he thought as he rubbed them gingerly. He turned to look at Monica, who almost looked as though she was regaining a little color in her cheeks. He shook his head, almost afraid to hope. "That's just your eyes playing tricks on you," he told himself with a sigh. He reached over and took hold of her hand. "Come on, Monica," he urged gently. "I can't take much more of this." He squeezed her hand coaxingly and did a double-take when he thought he felt her squeeze back. He stood abruptly and squeezed her hand again. "Monica?" He reluctantly let go of her hand and dashed into the hallway. "Hey!" he yelled in the direction of the nurses' station. "Where's Dr. Bennet?"  
"Mr. Bing, what's the problem?" He heard the doctor's voice from behind him and he spun to face him.   
"Doc, I think she's waking up. She squeezed my hand, I swear she did!" He followed the doctor into the room and stood next to Monica's bed nervously. "What's going on?"  
"Mr. Bing, sporadic muscle movement is common among coma patients," he began, but was interrupted when Monica's head turned to the side and she moved her arm timidly.   
"Oh, and is that normal as well?" Chandler asked sarcastically. He bent over the bed. "Mon? Mon, honey, can you hear me?" Her head rolled back to its original position and he saw her eyes flutter. "Monica, open your eyes," he commanded, squeezing her hand once again.   
She opened them after a moment and stared at Chandler, who was bent over and peering at her intently. The room was somewhat blurry and her body felt heavy and achy, and she wondered what was going on. "Mon. Can you hear me?" She went to answer him, but no sound came out. She heard a third voice, and shifted her gaze to see a doctor standing on the other side of her bed.   
"Ms. Geller, don't try to talk, you're still on a respirator." He paused as he looked over the clipboard that held her chart and then placed it down on the stand next to her bed. "Would you like to get rid of that thing?" he asked her. She nodded. "Okay, then, on the count of three I want you to take a deep breath and blow out. One, two, three." As she did as she was told, the physician pulled the tube out of her throat and she coughed violently. She tried to formulate a word, but the doctor shook his head. "You won't be able to speak for a day or so," he informed her. "You've been on the respirator for a week." So that explained it. Her body felt like lead because she hadn't moved in seven days or more. She was momentarily confused as to where she was and how she ended up there, but then it all came rushing back. The pills. She looked at Chandler nervously as her eyes filled with tears. He leaned in toward her and softly stroked her hair.   
"It's going to be okay, Mon," he reassured her. "It's all going to be okay." She wasn't sure why, but she felt comforted by his words, and prayed that he was right.  
  
"She's awake?" Chandler nodded, exhausted but relieved. "Can I see her?" He nodded again and pointed toward the room, and followed Ross's retreating figure. "Mon?" She opened her eyes and turned toward the voice, surprised and somewhat nervous when she saw her brother standing beside her. "Oh, God, Monica." He leaned in and gave her a light kiss on the forehead. "Are you okay?" he asked, unable to think of anything better to say. She nodded.   
"I'm okay," she whispered hoarsely.  
"Respirator," Chandler explained, and Ross nodded understandingly. He looked her up and down, surprised that she looked almost normal, apart from the tiredness that was spelled out across her face and the fact that she was in a hospital gown with an IV in her arm. He was suddenly annoyed at her.   
"What the hell were you thinking?" She dropped her head in shame and waited for the rest.   
"Ross--" Chandler's warning was cut off by Ross's angry voice.   
"Monica, how could you do this? Do you have any idea how worried we've all been? Did you think about any of us? Why on earth would you do something like this?" Chandler placed a hand on his shoulder.   
"Not now, man," he warned, low enough so that Monica couldn't hear. "Not here." Ross immediately calmed and looked at her. He regretted getting upset, but it was as though all of the emotions of the past week -- the sadness, the anger, the anxiety -- had just erupted. He reached over and took a hold of her hand.   
"I'm sorry, Mon," he whispered. "I just... I was so worried." A silent tear rolled down her face as she looked back up at him.   
"I'm sorry too," she croaked. He shook his head and placed a finger to his lips.   
"We'll talk about this later, okay?" She nodded, relieved that she wouldn't have to explain anything immediately and managed a small smile as he and Chandler left the room. She turned and looked out the small rectangular window on the other side of the room, wondering what her life held in store for her, and why on earth she had been spared.  
  
As she put on the coat that her friends had brought to the hospital for her, she looked out the window for a final time. She was reluctant to leave the small hospital room, although it would be more accurate to say that she was reluctant to return to her own apartment. As much as she hated hospitals, she was terrified of what awaited her outside the doors. She felt oddly safe there, and hoped that her life was at least beginning to get back on track. The doctor came in and smiled when he saw her getting ready. "Well, Ms. Geller, ready to get out of this place?" She nodded half-heartedly and gave him an uneasy smile. "Okay, here's your prescription," he said handing her a slip of paper, "and here is the card for your appointment," he added, handing her another and smiling encouragingly. "Your scheduled time is tomorrow at noon, okay?" She nodded again as she looked at the papers in her hand. Anti-depressants and a shrink. She'd never been to a psychiatrist, and she wondered what she was going to have to tell the person. The doctor patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. "Good luck," he said.  
"Thank you," she answered, picking up her bag and walking out.   
  
"Okay, Monica, our time is up," announced the woman sitting across from her. "Same time Thursday, yes?" Monica nodded obediently and rose from the couch. "Oh, Monica," she said quickly. "I meant to ask you. Next time, could you bring someone along with you?"  
"Bring someone?" Monica repeated, confused.  
"Yes, bring someone. Someone who is an important part of your life. A friend, a co-worker, a mentor... anyone, as long as it's not a member of your immediate family."  
"Uh, yeah, sure, I can do that. Why?"  
"Oh, don't worry, it's just so that we can get some insight into some things. Nothing specific, it's just that it's always a good idea to get another dimension... hear the thoughts of someone who knows you."  
"Okay, yeah, no problem," she agreed, nodding. The psychiatrist smiled.   
"Good. See you Thursday."  
"Yep. Thursday. 'Bye, Dr. Wilson."   
"Goodbye, Monica." As she left the office, Monica momentarily pondered who she should bring with her. She obviously couldn't bring Ross, as he was family, and she was afraid of what the doctor would think if she took Phoebe or Joey, being that they were bound to say something wacky. "That leaves Rachel and Chandler," she decided. Rachel had been her friend for longer, but at the same time Chandler had been such a major part of her life lately, whereas Rachel almost seemed afraid of her. "I guess it's Chandler then," she decided as she hailed a taxi. She just hoped that he'd agree to go.  
  
"It's okay," Monica said as she reached out and took Chandler's hand comfortingly. It was two days later, and Chandler had agreed without hesitation to accompany her to her appointment. He smiled at her.  
"Yeah, I know," he replied. "Just... nerves. I'm fine." She smiled back and withdrew her hand, turning once again to stare at the fake plant in the corner of the waiting room.   
"They should really dust that," she said absently. He smiled. It was somewhat of a relief to see that at least some of her old quirks hadn't disappeared -- her obsessive need for everything to be neat and orderly, for example. As he gazed at her profile, he realized how close they'd come to losing her, and he felt the angst return once again. Before he could get too emotional, however, the door opened and a plump woman with honey-colored hair emerged smiling.  
"Hello again, Monica," she greeted warmly.   
"Hi, Dr. Wilson," Monica replied, standing. "I'd like you to meet Chandler Bing. Chandler, this is Dr. Wilson."  
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bing," she welcomed him, shaking his hand.  
"Chandler," he corrected her, returning the handshake.  
"Chandler," she repeated with a smile. "Okay, shall we get this show on the road?" They both nodded and followed her into her office, sitting next to each other on the couch. Dr. Wilson sat opposite them in a wheeled chair and smiled reassuringly as she noticed the anxious expressions that were obvious on both of their faces. "This isn't going to hurt," she said, trying to ease the tension. They both nodded in unison, and she held back a laugh. "All righty, well, why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself, Chandler?" He cleared his throat nervously and swallowed.  
"Okay, well, um, I'm 28... I uh... I met Monica through her older brother, who was my college roommate. A few years later, I ended up moving into the apartment across the hall from her, and we've been friends ever since. I'm a data processor," he added, throwing a mischievous glance in Monica's direction. "Not that Monica would be able to tell you that, being that she doesn't even know what I do for a living..." He trailed off, grinning at her teasingly. She giggled and rolled her eyes.   
"Well, I know NOW, don't I?" He grinned. Making her laugh nowadays made him so happy. Dr. Wilson smiled as she watched all this. It was obvious that Monica had at least one person in her life who cared for her deeply, and she knew it was much easier to overcome a depression when that was the case. Having dealt with individuals who were virtually alone, she was glad to see that that wasn't true in Monica's situation.  
"So, Chandler... are you married, or seeing someone?"  
"No... uh, I had a girlfriend somewhat recently, but we broke up."  
"I see." She made a note in her little book. "And, forgive me for asking, and don't think that I'm trying to imply anything here, it's just for the sake of clarity. Have you two ever been... romantically involved?" Monica blushed and Chandler shifted his gaze to the floor.  
"No," she mumbled.  
"Never," he added. Dr. Wilson hid a smile as she watched the effect her question had.   
"Okay, moving on," she said abruptly. "Let's cut right to the chase. Chandler, I realize that what we discuss may be somewhat uncomfortable or upsetting, and if, for any reason, you wish to end the discussion, just let me know, okay?"  
He nodded. "It's okay... if it'll help Mon." Monica smiled gratefully and Dr. Wilson nodded.   
"Good. Okay, first of all... Chandler, can you explain your thoughts, your feelings, what you were experiencing during the incident?"  
He looked at her, confused. "Incident?"  
"My little suicide attempt," Monica informed him. "We just refer to it as the 'incident.'" He nodded, taking a deep breath.  
"I was terrified," he said quietly, after a moment. "I thought I was going to lose her, and I knew if that happened... I just wouldn't have been able to handle it. She... she's one of the most important people in my life, and if she... wasn't around anymore, I don't know what I'd do." Monica felt the guilt return as Dr. Wilson nodded encouragingly, waiting for him to continue. He looked at her uneasily, not entirely sure what she expected.  
"Any other emotions, apart from fear?" she asked gently. He looked across at Monica nervously, and she nodded just as the doctor had done.  
"I was angry," he said hesitantly. When Dr. Wilson nodded again, he continued. "I was angry at her for thinking that it was the only way out. I was angry with her for letting it get that far, for not talking to me... I would have done anything to help her." He paused. "I still would," he added in a low voice. Monica looked at him, almost ashamed. She hated the idea of Chandler being angry with her or disappointed in her.  
"I'm sorry," she whispered. He turned to face her.  
"Oh, God, Mon, don't apologize. I'm not angry with you now... I was just so desperate, so scared that I was going to lose you." She gazed at him, realizing suddenly how selfish it had been for her to do what she'd done. She hadn't thought about the effect it would have on anyone, even Chandler or her family. As she looked at him evenly, she silently promised him and herself that she'd never be that selfish again.  
  
"It was nice meeting you, Chandler," Dr. Wilson said as the session drew to a close.  
"Likewise," he replied, shaking her hand again.  
"Monica, do you mind if we have a word quickly?" she asked.  
"Uh, no, not at all," Monica replied, turning to Chandler. He nodded understandingly.  
"I'll go get us a cab," he announced, leaving the office. Monica turned once again to face Dr. Wilson, wondering what she was going to say.  
"Monica," she said with a smile, "I think you've got a good thing going on there." Mon grinned back.  
"Yeah, I think I do, too. I don't know what I'd do without him."  
"Listen, we've been meeting twice a week for a month now... I think you're doing well, and it seems to me that you're in good hands. Why don't we change our schedule to once every three weeks, just as a sort of checkup, and then if all goes well, we can terminate them altogether?" Monica grinned, welcoming the implication that she wasn't as crazy as it seemed.  
"Sounds good to me," she replied. "Thank you, Dr. Wilson."  
"My pleasure," she answered, shaking her hand. "And when you feel lonely... go across the hall, okay?" Mon smiled again.   
"I'll do that," she said, turning to follow Chandler out and into the sunlight.  
  
  



End file.
